


Mari Lwyd

by SqutternutBosh



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Christmas, F/M, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:49:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqutternutBosh/pseuds/SqutternutBosh
Summary: With only days to go until Christmas, Gwen, Jack and Ianto are headed out to a Welsh seaside village to investigate why villagers are being found comatose on their doorsteps when morning comes. Setting up their base in a cosy cottage, the team strike out into the night to find answers.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper/Rhys Williams, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 20
Kudos: 53





	1. Llantristan

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly late Christmas team fic! I had this idea few weeks ago but haven't had a chance to write it until now, so I'm bringing you a belated bit of Christmas fun and team bonding. Hope you enjoy :)

Gwen sighs and looks out of the window of the SUV at the rolling Welsh countryside. There are sheep huddled up against the hedgerows for warmth against the bitter winter winds, and off in the distance she can see a grey slab of sea blending into the pale dusk.

‘I’m just saying that if Father Christmas was real, he’d have to be a Chronite or some similar species, there’s no way he’s human,’ Jack is saying from the driving seat, ‘humans don’t have the kind of grasp of quantum mechanics needed to do what he does, even if he’s from the future.’

‘And what about the elves?’ Ianto asks from the passenger seat beside him. ‘Some sort of short alien that loves monotonous tasks and can live for hundreds of years?’

‘Probably a robot or AI of some kind,’ Jack replies after a moment’s thought. ‘You could implant it with some sort of eternally festive personality.’

‘And the flying reindeer?’

Gwen traces a finger across the window, following a raindrop down the glass.

It’s four days until Christmas and instead of going to Banana Boat’s annual knees-up with Rhys and getting hammered on great quantities of eggnog and mulled wine, she’s heading out to a small village on the Welsh coast with Jack and Ianto to investigate something they suspect is alien. If they don’t find answers quick, there’s a good chance she could be spending Christmas holed up in a cottage with the pair, who, besides a lot of chat about ways in which aliens could be behind various elements of the Christmas story, don’t seem to have noticed just how close the day itself is.

The Christmas music that had been drifting out of the speakers comes to a stop. Jack lifts a hand from the steering wheel towards the CD player, and Gwen can see he’s about to start the record from the beginning again.

‘Isn’t that enough Nat King Cole for now, Jack?’ she asks.

Jack meets her eyes in the rear-view mirror, surprised at the frustrated edge in her voice.

‘What, you want Ianto to choose the music?’ he says. ‘Trust me, you don’t want to listen to that, it’s just noise.’

‘Just because it was written after World War Two doesn’t mean it’s just noise,’ Ianto protests. ‘If you -,’

‘Put the radio on, whatever, I’m just not in the mood for another Christmas album,’ Gwen says.

‘Alright, grinch,’ Jack says, flicking to the radio instead. It doesn’t offer much reprieve from the festive season as the dulcet tones of Noddy Holder ring out around the cabin.

‘Another classic,’ Ianto comments, sitting back in his seat, bouncing his leg along to the beat.

Gwen lets her head bang against the window and groans.

‘What’s up with you?’ Jack asks, eyes flicking to the rear-view mirror again. Gwen wishes he’d focus on the road more as they’re descending down some very tight country roads; the locals have already indicated via the medium of flipping Jack the bird that they’re not happy at him coming barging through the lanes in his oversized vehicle. Gwen doesn’t think he’s even noticed them. If he has, they haven’t influenced his driving behaviour at all.

‘I had plans tonight, y’know?’ she says. ‘And I still have presents to wrap, and we’ve got Rhys’s parents coming round for Christmas dinner, and I’m supposed to help with the prep, and they’ll definitely be asking big questions about our marriage if I’m not there on Christmas day. They’ll be trying to set him up with Catrin down the road if I’m not there.’

‘I don’t think you need to worry about that,’ Jack says. ‘Rhys loves you.’

Gwen waves a hand, dismissing this.

‘I know, I’m not worried about that,’ she says. ‘But it’s Christmas, isn’t it? I love you both dearly but being out chasing aliens with you two isn’t my idea of a perfect Christmas day. I should be at home stuffed to the brim with turkey and pigs in blankets, on my fourth glass of wine, and then you two should show up, not an alien in sight, for turkey sandwiches and a game of charades.’

‘I didn’t realise we were invited,’ says Jack.

‘Of course you are,’ says Gwen, ‘but only after Brenda and Barry leave. If you don’t have plans of your own.’

Gwen isn’t actually sure what either Jack or Ianto’s plans for Christmas day are. They’ve both been evasive whenever the topic has come up. Would they do something together, was that the kind of relationship they had now? She holds in a laugh, picturing them having Christmas dinner in the Hub with Janet wearing a cracker crown.

‘We’ll have you home in time for Christmas,’ Jack tells her, swinging the SUV around a bend, launching she and Ianto into the side of the vehicle. ‘Promise.’

‘I’ll hold you to that promise, Captain Harkness.’

‘Call me captain again and I’ll make all your Christmas wishes come true,’ he replies with a wink.

‘Just that one will do, thank you.’

‘You hear that, Ianto?’ Jack asks, nudging the other man with his elbow. ‘We’re invited around for sandwiches and charades.’

‘I don’t do charades,’ says Ianto, ‘but I am very good at Twister.’

Gwen rolls her eyes as Jack’s jaw drops.

*~*TW*~*

By the time they pull up in the seaside village of Llantristan, night has properly fallen and there’s not a soul to be seen on the streets. She can see Christmas lights have been put up on some of the houses but they aren’t switched on, the whole place is dark and bleak, just the sound of the waves crashing up against the sea wall to keep them company. A few small boats bob in the shallows, sails clinking against their masts in the breeze.

‘The place looks deserted,’ she says, looking for any signs of life behind the windows of the closed-up cottages. Places like this usually seem so cosy at this time of year – her Nan had lived somewhere similar near Swansea and Gwen had always loved walking through the village a Christmas time as a kid, looking at the lights, hearing carols echo out from the small chapel in the square.

‘Can you blame them?’ says Jack. ‘Smart move after everything that’s happened here.’

Gwen looks down at the case notes in her lap. Four people in the village, which only has a population of two thousand, have been found comatose in their doorways on different mornings in the last week. One had died of exposure having apparently been left out in the cold all night in only their pyjamas. The doctors have been able to find a reason for the comatose states and none of the three remaining patients have awoken to tell their tale. The only witness to any of the incidents was a small boy who had blamed it on a monster and that was all the local constabulary could get out of him.

It’s enough of a mystery for Jack to feel like they need to get involved, although he’d told Gwen and Ianto that he’d only known the Rift to throw something out this far west of Cardiff once before.

‘Just down on the right here, Jack,’ Ianto says, pointing out a stone cottage at the end of the row, looking out over the small harbour. Jack steers the SUV towards it and parks it up on the curb side.

As they get out of the car, Gwen spots the neighbour’s curtain twitching. Jack sees it too.

‘If they’ve got any sense they won’t be opening their front door tonight,’ he says quietly to her, glancing at the window over his shoulder. ‘We’ll have to save quizzing the locals til the morning.’

Gwen steps round to the boot of the SUV and grabs her overnight bag. Ianto is at the front door, putting a numbered code into the lockbox nailed to the doorframe. With a click, it opens and he retrieves a key from within.

Sliding it into the lock, he says,

‘The owner was thrilled to get a booking at such short notice. She was worried no one would ever want to stay here again. Said she wasn’t planning to come and stay herself any time soon.’

The door unlocks and he pushes it open, standing aside to let Gwen in first.

The inside is much more homely and welcoming than out on the frigid harbourside. A fire roars in the grate and the two squashy old sofas are piled high with cushions and tartan blankets. The flagstones are covered in a mismatched weave of rugs leading to a low-ceilinged kitchenette with original beams, and off to the right a narrow set of wooden stairs leads to the upstairs floor.

She drops her back next to the stairs and crosses over to the fireplace, holding her palms out to the flames to warm them. The whole place has a lingering smell of bonfire that makes Gwen think of fireworks and toffee apples.

Jack and Ianto bring in the rest of the kit and shut the door behind them. Gwen turns her back to the fire, feeling the heat on her legs through her jeans. All she needs now is a good bottle of wine and to bury herself under some of the blankets.

‘Cosy,’ says Jack, ducking a beam and looking generally far too big for the space. He’s much more suited to city rooftops than country cottages.

‘The owner did say she’d light the fire ready for us,’ says Ianto, perching on the arm of one of the sofas.’ ‘She said she’d leave us milk and Welsh cakes in the pantry too.’

‘Ok, you’re starting to sell me on this whole Christmas mission now,’ says Gwen, breaking away from the fire and dropping onto one of the sofas. It’s just as comfy as it had looked.

‘There aren’t any hotels in the village so it was this or camping,’ says Ianto. ‘And we’ve all learnt our lesson about the dangers of camping.’

‘Absolutely,’ says Gwen, resting her head back and closing her eyes. The warmth has really lulled her into sleepiness all of a sudden. She tugs one of the blankets down off the back of the sofa and winds it around her.

‘It’s a good spot, Ianto, puts us right at the heart of the investigation. Just don’t go opening the front door to any strangers tonight,’ Jack says, waggling his eyebrows.

‘There are only two bedrooms upstairs,’ Ianto tells Gwen, ‘if you want first dibs.’

‘We won’t be sleeping tonight anyway,’ says Jack.

‘Oh no, Jack, no, can you two _please_ not be doing anything like that while we’re sharing a wall? Control yourselves,’ says Gwen.

Jack clears his throat and Ianto carefully avoids her gaze, staring into the fire.

‘As cute as Ianto looks today, that’s not what I meant,’ Jack replies. ‘Whatever’s attacking people around here comes out at night, so tell me, Mrs Cooper, where do we need to be tonight?’

Gwen hugs one of the blankets closer to her. She knew this was coming.

‘But it’s so cold,’ she protests, mouth half-hidden by the blanket. She peeps over the top of her blanket cocoon, fluttering her eyelids in a way that always works when she’s snuggled up in her duvet and needs to persuade Rhys to bring her toast and a cuppa in bed.

‘Wear a jacket,’ Jack tells her, not falling for it.

Gwen looks to Ianto for support.

‘I can lend you some gloves,’ he says, already getting back to his feet.

Jack crosses the room and offers a hand down to Gwen, ready to pull her up out of her comfortable position.

‘Come on, Gwen,’ he says. ‘The sooner we get this solved, the quicker you can be home for Christmas.’

‘You sound like a cheesy Christmas movie,’ she says as she takes his hand.

‘Good,’ he replies, lifting her up out of the seat. ‘Those always have happy endings, right?’


	2. Chapter 2

Jack sends Gwen and Ianto off to investigate together as he stalks off into the night on his own, greatcoat whipping up behind him in the wind blowing in off the sea. It’s become standard procedure now that they’re down to a team of three that Jack goes solo, leaving Gwen and Ianto to work together and cover each other’s backs. The system already hasn’t ended well for Jack on several occasions but nothing either Ianto or Gwen says can change his mind about how they need to approach things.

Ianto has resolved that the best he can do is be there for Jack when he revives and to do everything he can to keep Gwen safe on the job.

Ianto locks up the cottage, Gwen rubbing her gloved hands together behind him. Once he’s done, he flips the collar of his coat up against the icy gusts and brings the zip up as far as it will go.

‘We could always just sneak back into the cottage, sit by the fire with a glass of wine and tell Jack we went out,’ Gwen says, her voice muffled as her face is tucked up in a wad of scarf.

Ianto can’t say he isn’t tempted by the idea but he resists.

‘The village isn’t that big, it’s not going to take us long to walk around it and take a few scans,’ he says.

‘Let’s get moving then,’ she says, walking away along the harbour wall, ‘and let’s start with some of the inner streets away from the sea, it’s bloody freezing out here.’

Ianto follows after her – her plan is as good as any. He fumbles with the scanner in his hands, having to press the buttons a few times to get them to register that his thickly gloved hands are trying to use them.

So far, he’s not picking up on anything unusual. Certainly nothing Rift-related, and they’re far enough away from Cardiff that even the hum of low-level Rift radiation isn’t showing on the screen. He adjusts the settings so the scanner will beep if it picks anything up and tucks the scanner in his pocket.

He takes a few long strides to catch up to Gwen.

‘It’s a shame everyone’s turned their Christmas lights off,’ he says to her. ‘I bet it’s normally much nicer around here at this time of year.’

‘I guess no one wants to draw attention to themselves,’ she replies.

‘I reckon a few of them have gone elsewhere too. Look around, hardly any lights on in the windows at all, nothing even coming through the curtains.’

‘It is very quiet.’

Gwen nudges into Ianto and tucks her arm through his, pressing into his side.

‘I knew you’d be warm,’ she says. ‘Share.’

Ianto rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away. He slows to match her shorter steps.

‘Seems like you need an alien to chase after, get your blood pumping,’ he says.

‘That’d do just nicely. Although,’ she says, as their feet meet with a slope and their path begins to wind up a steep street, ‘it’s a bit hilly round here. If we do run into any alien scum, I’d like to find them at the top of the hill and have to chase them down.’

‘We could run a pincer movement.’

She grins up at him. Their breath puffs out in little clouds, twisting in the air for a moment before being snatched away by the night.

Gwen brushes her hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.

‘What do you normally do for Christmas, Ianto?’ she asks.

‘Me? Not much. I’ll go and see my sister and her kids if I can. She’s got the in-laws coming this year though and I don’t want to give her any extra stress.’

‘You don’t talk about your family much.’

‘I don’t see them much.’

That much is true, but it isn’t really why Ianto doesn’t tend to talk about his family. He’s created a certain image of himself over the years, the Ianto he presents to the team, and he doesn’t want that to start to crumble. It’s not that he’s lied as such, just embellished here and there, or carefully steered the lines of conversations away from anything too revealing.

He doesn’t even talk about these things with Jack, other than a passing comment here and there if he gets the chance to visit Rhiannon and the kids. It’s an unspoken agreement between the two of them – Ianto is sure Jack must have connections, whether blood related or otherwise, scattered around the country, but they don’t talk about it. There’s always something else to discuss or work to be done.

Gwen squeezes his forearm.

‘I meant it, what I said in the car earlier,’ she says. ‘You should come round Christmas evening. I’d have you round all day if it weren’t for Brenda and Barry. I hate to think of you being on your own.’

‘You’re assuming Jack is giving me the day off,’ Ianto says.

‘I’ve never known a boss to ride his employees so hard,’ she teases, tongue poking through her teeth.

‘He is very demanding.’

They’ve reached the top of the village. Looking out over the tiled rooftops, Ianto can see down to the Irish Sea, a lighthouse blinking at the edge of the harbour. It’s dark and calm, the salty sea scent stronger than what they experience every day at Cardiff Bay.

He reaches over with his free hand and grips the hand Gwen has woven through his other arm.

‘Thank you, Gwen,’ he says. ‘I might just take you up on that invitation.’

‘I hope you do, or I’ll be having words with Jack.’

‘You should be careful playing any games with him though,’ Ianto says as they pick up the pace again, cutting along the top of the village to take the next street back down the hill. ‘I’ve only ever known him to cheat. Very sore loser.’

They walk a few houses down the road, and then take a left, Gwen following a sign that indicates the village square.

The square itself isn’t very large, bordered by rows of terraced cottages on two sides, then a small supermarket on the other, and a church complete with nativity scene on the fourth side. The three wise men look like they’ve seen better days – only one of them appears to have brought a gift for the baby Jesus.

Despite the small size, at the centre of the square, is a large Christmas tree. Festooned in strings of multi-coloured lights and topped with a sparkling star, it’s one of the only signs of the upcoming holiday that they’ve come across in the entire village.

Gwen looks up at it, lights dancing in her eyes.

‘That’s nice, isn’t it?’ she says.

‘It is,’ he agrees. ‘Classic Christmas tree, no tacky decorations.’

‘Of course you like the traditional style. You would, wouldn’t you?’

Ianto bristles a bit, not sure what she’s insinuating.

‘A bit of taste never hurt anyone,’ he says. ‘Pink and purple tinsel on the other hand…’

‘Hey, I like a bit of tinsel!’

‘You would, wouldn’t you?’

Ianto enjoys spinning her words back at her. Gwen narrows her eyes at him, opens her mouth to retort, but then her gaze lands on something new. She steps around him, looking in the direction of the little shop, then turns back.

‘Gwen, wha-?’

‘I think we’re being watched,’ she says.

Ianto glances over his shoulder, following her line of sight.

A car has pulled up outside the shop, an innocuous Ford estate, nothing fancy. The back windows are tinted but the front two aren’t. Straining to see properly in the darkness, relying on the lights in the shop window to backlight the car, Ianto can see that Gwen’s not being totally paranoid. Both the driver of the car and the passenger do look like they’re watching the Torchwood pair quite intently.

He links his arm with Gwen again, aiming to look as innocent as possible.

‘Let’s get a bit closer,’ he says.

They cross the square and pretend to look in the shop window, using the reflection to keep an eye on the car. As they had walked, the heads of the people inside had swivelled to watch them. Whoever they were, they weren’t subtle. To Ianto’s mind, this means they’re either highly trained and about to pounce with no fear that Ianto or Gwen would be able to take them down, or they’re just two locals suspicious of the strangers in their village.

As the two exit the vehicle, Ianto catches a glimpse of a blond child in the back seat, bundled up in a puffy onesie. He lowers the threat level of the pair in his mind immediately down to ‘Not going to hurt us, but may get hurt themselves for getting involved.’ A different kind of issue.

He schools his face into a placid smile and sees Gwen do the same. Ianto inclines his head towards the man, tapping into the international understanding men have about how to acknowledge one another in public.

‘Evening,’ says Gwen, looking from the man to the woman next to him.

They look a similar age to Gwen, wrapped up in their winter gear. The woman has a notebook in her hand.

‘I don’t think we’ve seen you around here before,’ she says.

‘Oh no, you wouldn’t have,’ Gwen says, the picture of innocence. ‘We’re staying just down along the seafront for a few days, at Ty Môr. Little pre-Christmas break, you know?’

The woman scribbles something on her notepad.

‘Is everything alright?’ Gwen continues, frowning as the woman flips the notebook shut again. ‘We’ve noticed it’s quite quiet around here.’

The man and woman look between each other.

‘You don’t know?’ the man says after a moment.

‘Is there something we should know?’ Gwen asks.

The man laughs but it’s devoid of humour.

‘Something’s happening around here,’ the woman tells them, her voice earnest. ‘People in the village have been… falling ill.’

‘I might have seen something in the news about that, come to think about it,’ Ianto says. ‘Comas, wasn’t it?’

The woman nods solemnly.

‘We’re keeping an eye out at night now, since the police won’t,’ she says. ‘They think it’s just a coincidence but if that’s what happened then why were they all found on their doorsteps like they’d opened it for someone? We’re staying out all night trying to make sure no one else gets hurt.’

‘And what about you?’ Gwen asks them. ‘Shouldn’t you be at home safe?’

‘Someone has to do it,’ the man says.

A wail sounds up from within the car. The woman opens the back door and fusses the child in the back seat, brushing her hand gently across his cheek.

‘Shh, shh, Tudur, we’ll go home soon, not long now.’

‘Is there anything we can do to help?’ Gwen asks. ‘I’m Gwen, this is my brother Ianto.’

The brother-sister act was their go-to if they needed a cover story and hadn’t had time to plan one. It never raised any eyebrows and it didn’t this time either.

‘I’m Dai,’ the man says, ‘and this is my wife, Eleri.’

Eleri closes the door to the car.

‘We should get moving again, Dai,’ she says.

At that moment, Ianto’s phone starts to ring in his pocket.

‘Sorry,’ he says, grimacing apologetically as he fishes it out of his pocket. He walks further down the street and answers. ‘Jack?’

‘Ianto,’ Jack says, voice harried. ‘You and Gwen should get here now. I’m at the end of our road and I’ve got a live one.’

‘We’ll be there as soon as we can.’

Jack hangs up. Ianto heads back over to Gwen and the couple, phone still in his hand in case it rings again. He gives Gwen a look that conveys the need to get moving, quickly.

‘Dinner’s ready,’ he says. ‘We should get moving.’

‘When you do go home, lock the door,’ Eleri says, ‘and don’t open it for anyone til morning.’

‘Stay safe,’ adds Dai, heading back round to the driver’s door.

‘You should go home too,’ Gwen tells them. ‘It’s not your job to keep everyone here safe.’

‘Then whose is it?’ says Dai, opening the door. ‘Good night.’

Ianto waits for them to start up the engine and start to drive away before turning to Gwen. He can see she’s frustrated by what just happened.

‘They could be putting themselves in danger,’ she says.

Ianto shrugs. ‘They might actually be safer in their car. Doesn’t match the attack pattern.’

‘Still… Was that Jack?’

‘Yep. You know what you were saying earlier about running downhill?’ he says.

‘Time to get our sprint on?’ she asks.

Ianto watches Dai steer the car to the end of the square, taking a right and disappearing into the night.

‘Jack’s got a live one down by the harbour,’ he says. ‘Race you.’

And he takes off, leaving Gwen to keep up with his long strides down the cobbled street.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team gets closer to the source of the mystery doorway incidents...

Gwen is out of breath by the time they get down to the harbourfront – all the running in Torchwood keeps her fit but sprinting almost a kilometre through the frigid night air has left her lungs fit to burst. Adrenalin buzzes through her as she sucks in deep breaths, ready to take on whatever it is Jack has found.

But it’s quiet. As she and Ianto come to a stop and the rattling echoes of their footsteps off the stone walls fade away, there’s nothing alien to be heard. No screaming or roaring or pithy comments from Jack as he faces something down.

Looking around the dimly lit street, she spots Jack stood near an open doorway. He has his hands on his hips, studying someone through the door.

She follows Ianto over.

The door of the house, a festive wreath affixed to it with red ribbon, isn’t open all of the way, just cracked enough for the man opening it to have one leg tucked out in front of the door, his face peering around. He looks to be in his late fifties, grey-haired, scrubby stubble. Wide-eyed and frozen still, mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

‘I nearly missed him,’ Jack says. ‘The door’s not even all the way open.’

‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ Gwen asks, stepping around Jack, getting closer to the man at the door.

Jack shakes his head.

‘Nothing. I thought I saw his pupils moving but it was a trick of the light.’

Gwen reaches out a hand to touch the man, but Jack grabs her arm and pulls her back.

‘Don’t. Safer not to, not while we don’t know what we’re dealing with.’

Ianto is running a scan behind them, frowning down at the PDA in his gloved hands.

‘Heart rate is high, body temperature on the low side – still alive but that’s not a good combo. And there’s something else.’ He takes a step back. ‘I get a better read on it from here. The scanner is picking up some sort of disturbance, an energy that we’re not familiar with. Whatever it is seems to be stood right next to you both.’

Both Jack and Gwen immediately take a step back. Gwen squints at the space around the doorway but whatever Ianto is picking up, she can’t see any trace of it.

‘So, there’s something there. He can see it and we can’t,’ Jack muses.

‘How would that even work?’ Gwen asks.

‘That’s the kind of inter-dimensional physics we haven’t even started to understand even by the fifty-first century,’ he says.

‘Wonderful. How are we supposed to stop something like that?’

Ianto tucks his PDA away in his inside pocket and walks closer to the house.

‘I have an idea,’ he says.

‘I don’t remember seeing a PhD in inter-dimensional physics on your CV,’ Jack comments, though he makes no move to stop him.

‘Admittedly, I don’t have one of those,’ says Ianto. He reaches for the door, grabs it, and pulls. ‘But I do have a solid understanding of good old-fashioned common sense.’

He closes the door. As he tugs it, the man’s grip falls away. The door closes with a snap, followed by the distinct sound of the gentleman behind it toppling over.

Ianto smiles smugly at them both. Gwen rolls her eyes.

‘I think that’s actually a decent analogy for one of the key concepts in inter-dimensional physics,’ Jack says.

‘I thought you said you didn’t understand it?’ Ianto replies.

‘I don’t. I’m just trying to make myself feel better for not thinking of the whole “just shut the door” thing.’

Ianto checks his PDA again.

‘Whatever was holding him there seems to have disappeared without a trace,’ he says.

Gwen leans up against the door, pressing her ear to it.

‘Hello? Are you alright in there?’ she calls through it.

Faintly, she can hear the man inside scrabbling to get back to his feet.

‘Wh-who is it?’ he says.

‘We’re here to help.’

The door creaks open once again. Gwen presents the gentleman inside with her best sympathy smile, a careful balance of understanding eyes and a soft quirk of the lips that she had honed when in the police.

‘My name’s Gwen,’ she tells him. ‘These are my colleagues, Jack and Ianto.’

‘Gavin,’ the man says, ‘Gavin Williams.’

‘Hi, Gavin. Can you remember what just happened?’

Gavin pulls the door open further. He rubs at the side of his head, pressing his knuckles against his temple.

‘I, uh, I think I fell down. Is that why you’re here?’

Gwen side-steps his question.

‘Before that. Can you remember why you fell? Why you came to the front door?’

Gavin chews on his lip. He casts his eyes upwards, thinking back.

‘I heard singing,’ he answers after a moment.

‘Singing?’ says Jack sharply.

‘Yes, singing, I can remember now. I thought it was carollers. I know everyone’s keeping themselves holed up at the moment, not opening their doors at night, but I heard this singing and I…’

‘Did the singers ask you to open the door?’ Jack asks after Gavin trails off.

‘No, no one asked, I just knew I had to open it. Was it you, were you the singers?’

‘I only sing in the shower, Mr Williams,’ Jack tells him, ‘that’s where the best acoustics are.’

Jack grins and Gwen can sense him wrapping things up – they’ve learnt all that they can here.

‘Is there anyone else at home with you, Gavin?’ Gwen asks.

‘No, no, only me here. I’m supposed to go to my daughter’s tomorrow ready for Christmas, over in Pembroke.’

‘You should go. Get a good night’s sleep now and you’ll feel right as rain in the morning.’

‘Yes, yes… I’ll do that. And I don’t need to go to police about what happened? After the other… incidents round here?’

‘We’ve got it covered. Thanks for your time.’

Gwen gives a little wave in goodbye and walks away, leading Jack and Ianto over to the harbour wall. The wind blows her hair across her face. She’s still warm from their run down here and grateful for the heat.

Something about Gavin’s story is knocking up against an old memory in the back of her mind, something that’s trying to resurface.

‘So, we’ve got a mesmerising singer that draws people to their doors, and only the people who open the door can see them, and then it freezes them in place?’ Ianto summarises.

‘Sounds like whoever’s in the house on the other side of the door can see them too,’ says Jack. ‘Remember the kid in that one house, said he saw a monster?’

‘A singing monster. Sounds like something out of Greek myth.’

Ianto’s words nudge the thought Gwen has been trying to grasp right to the front of her mind. She brushes a flailing strand of hair out of her face.

‘Or… How about Welsh folk lore?’ Gwen puts to them. Ianto looks at her quizzically, cheeks tinged pink from the cold.

‘What do you mean?’ he says.

‘Mari Lwyd. Didn’t you ever learn about in school?’

‘Mari… Lwyd… The dead horse thing?’

‘The _singing_ dead horse thing. Comes round at Christmas, sings to be let in, you’re supposed to sing back in a sort of Welsh rap battle.’

‘Hold on,’ says Jack. ‘You’re telling me there’s a Welsh story about a dead horse that comes to people’s doors at Christmas time and sings until it can be let in?’

‘It’s not a whole horse,’ says Ianto. ‘From what I can remember, it’s more like a horse’s skull on a stick with a sheet over it. Very Scooby Doo ghost.’

‘Well… What if it’s based on something real?’ Gwen suggests. ‘What if this thing has been here before, a long time ago? This is an old village.’

Jack tucks his hands in his pockets and draws his coat around him.

‘Could be,’ he says, bobbing his head. ‘I’m not so worried about what it is right now, I’m more interested in how we catch and stop it. And it seems to me that the only way to be in with a chance of doing that is to have it come to our front door.’

‘But how can we do that? I’ve been over the victim data, there’s no obvious connection other than the fact they all live here,’ says Gwen. ‘I can’t see how it decides where to go next.’

‘I did notice one thing,’ says Ianto. ‘We walked past the addresses of the other victims and they all had it, and Mr Williams has one too.’

He gestures towards Mr Williams’s house. Gwen can’t see what he’s on about, can just see a plain stone façade, square windows either side of the door and another two upstairs beneath the low roof, just like the kind of house a child might draw. There’s even smoke spiralling out of the chimney.

Jack’s frowning too. Ianto is watching them both expectantly, waiting for the penny to drop.

Then she sees it, shining on the front door. She’d brushed past it earlier. She gasps in realisation.

‘Christmas wreaths,’ she says.

‘Exactly,’ says Ianto.

‘You think they act like some sort of invitation?’

‘Could be.’

‘Fits with the Mari Lwyd theory.’

‘It does love a Christmas singalong.’

Jack claps his hands together.

‘Right, we know what we’ve got to do then,’ he says. ‘Confiscate all the wreaths and make sure we’re the only ones with one left on their door.’

‘And what, then we just open the door and let it catch us instead?’ says Gwen.

‘At least we’ll be face to face with the enemy,’ Jack shrugs. ‘We’ll figure that out. For now though, we should just make sure no one else has one, to keep them safe.’

Ianto groans.

‘So that’s what you want us to do now then, run around town stealing people’s Christmas decorations?’ he says. ‘That’s not going to do our already dodgy reputation any favours.’

‘Hey, people respect Torchwood!’

Ianto raises an eyebrow at him. Jack scowls, then concedes.

‘Alright, _fine_. We won’t just take them. We’ll come up with some excuse, pests or poisonous branches, and then we’ll go around and ask people _nicely_ if we can take their Christmas decorations.’

Gwen stifles a yawn.

‘Tomorrow though, yeah?’ she says. ‘People are much more receptive to having their Christmas cheer stolen after a good night’s sleep.’

Jack checks his watch and nods.

‘Okay. And then tomorrow, we catch this Mari Dead Horse.’


	4. Chapter 4

The next day starts in a strangely domestic fashion by Torchwood standards. Gwen treats herself to a lie-in, eventually waking up just before ten, fully cocooned in her duvet. She yawns and stretches, luxuriating for a moment in the feeling of a proper sleep that hasn’t been disrupted by an alarm of any kind.

She can hear the low rumble of Jack and Ianto’s voices downstairs. She’s half-tempted to head on down there still wrapped in her duvet but spots a fluffy dressing gown on the back of the door and decides that’s the more professional look she needs.

As she steps out onto the top of the stairs, she picks up on some music coming from the television downstairs. Jack and Ianto are watching her absolute favourite Christmas film, The Muppet Christmas Carol.

‘The Doctor told me once that he gave Dickens the idea for A Christmas Carol,’ she hears Jack telling Ianto.

Ianto snorts.

‘I bet he did,’ he says. ‘The Muppets really take the idea to a whole new level though.’

Glancing over the banister, Gwen can see the backs of their heads. Jack has one arm thrown over the back of the sofa, his hand coming round to play with the ends of Ianto’s hair, running it through his thumb and finger. Ianto has his bare feet up on the coffee table, a bowl of cereal in his hands. Both are wearing plain, white t-shirts and pyjama bottoms, something Gwen is surprised to see that Jack owns.

Watching them both for a moment, Gwen feels like she’s intruding on something far more intimate than the (now multiple) times she’s caught them in a more passionate clinch.

‘They remind me of the dominant species on Hensaria, especially that bear guy,’ Jack says.

‘That’s Fozzy.’

‘Yeah, they’re like him, but smaller. They stop by Earth from time to time.’

‘Should we be worried about that?’

‘They’re harmless. They just like to visit different food markets around the world.’

‘Even though they look like bear puppets?’

‘They use a sort of perception filter. Makes people see what they expect to see which, in most cases on this planet, is a regular old human.’

‘Huh.’

Gwen turns away, thinking she’ll take a shower before breakfast instead and leave them to it, but her foot creaks on the top step and Jack looks around.

‘Morning, Sleeping Beauty,’ he says with a grin.

‘Ugh,’ says Gwen, continuing down the stairs now that she’s been seen. ‘You sound like my dad.’

‘Then he must be a witty and urbane guy.’

As she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she notices Ianto has leant away from Jack and removed his feet from the coffee table. Jack keeps his arm on the back of the sofa but Ianto is now out of reach.

‘There’s coffee in the pot in the kitchen,’ Ianto says, not taking his eyes off the TV screen and Gwen has a sudden vision of him as a child, propped up in front of cartoons on a Saturday morning.

‘Magic, thanks,’ says Gwen.

She crosses into the kitchen and pours herself a mug before rummaging in the cupboard, finding some bread, and slotting two slices into the toaster. She blows on her coffee to cool it while she waits for her bread to toast.

‘What’s our plan then?’ she asks.

‘First, we knock on all of the doors that have wreaths and tell them we’re from the local council and need to take them away due to a suspected infestation of a very venomous bug that’s made its way over here in shipping containers,’ says Jack, holding one finger up. He lifts a second as he continues. ‘Second, we bring all the wreaths here and start to do our research. You can focus on your Mari Lwyd theory, and Ianto will patch into the digitised archives to see if we’ve got anything similar on record. I’ll play with some of the kit we’ve brought with us to see if there’s anything I can rig up to catch our attacker.’

Gwen takes a sip of her coffee.

‘So, we only put the wreath up on our door when we’ve got that last bit figured out?’

‘We’ll see what it comes to.’

The toaster pops. Gwen goes through several cupboards trying to find the jam she was sure she’d seen when looking for a glass the previous night.

Still engrossed in the TV, but able to tune into his uncanny butler instinct regardless, Ianto calls over,

‘It’s in the fridge. Jack already used about half of it though.’

‘Seriously?’ Gwen says, opening the fridge and finding that yes, Jack has already used half a jar of jam.

‘What? I like jam!’ Jack says.

‘You like _sugar_ ,’ Gwen tells him. Jack has always had a sweet tooth, she’d noticed that about him early on. She sighs as she spreads the sticky, red preserve across her breakfast - at least his habit isn’t ever going to have any lasting effect on his teeth or health. Her dentist has given up trying to send her reminders to come in for a routine check-up. She just doesn’t have time for such mundanities with her job.

Still, she thinks, as she plops down on the other sofa and bites into her toast as Michael Caine laughs along with a giant muppet on screen, they get the odd moment like this. Time to sit and talk as a team as if they’ll soon be returning to their desks to get on with spreadsheets and invoicing, and not gearing up to head out and fight aliens.

Gwen enjoys these moments greatly but she knows they’re almost always the calm before the storm.

*~*TW*~*

Gathering the wreaths doesn’t prove to be too much of a problem. With a fake ID that nobody ever looks too closely at and a story about dangerous foreign bugs, most people are keen to hand their decorations over to Gwen and Ianto, who wear rubber gloves and treat the wreaths as if they are, in fact, infested. One or two of the people they talk to clearly feel like the invasion of toxic insects from abroad is too much on top of the stress of the people who’ve been found comatose in their doorways, so Gwen nods along sympathetically and tells them she hopes it will all be over soon and wishes them a merry Christmas.

It doesn’t take too long either, and they’re soon back at the cottage with a pile of mince pies from the local bakery and several browser windows of research into Welsh folk legends running on screen.

Jack has spent the morning pulling various bits of equipment out of the back of the SUV, from storage spaces Gwen didn’t even know were in there, and now has them spread across the living room and kitchen floor. Movement of any kind requires careful planning so as not to disturb alien weaponry on the way to the bathroom. There’s already been an incident in which Gwen stumbled over what was actually a Sontaran grenade, which led to an argument about what is and isn’t appropriate to leave lying around the house. Through this, Gwen has become acutely aware that Jack is probably quite a difficult person to live with. It’s also reaffirmed that she and Jack do not get on well when confined to a cramped space. As Jack returned the grenade to the car like a petulant child, Gwen had felt all of a sudden very grateful to have Rhys and his tidy habits in her life.

Ianto’s approach to all of this had been simply to tune them out. This, Gwen suspects, probably says a lot about the environment he grew up in.

She studies him now over the top of her laptop, sat opposite her at the dining table. She’s seen how kids from volatile homes can ignore things and blend in, and that’s a skill Ianto certainly has.

Ianto notices her watching and looks up.

‘What?’ he says.

Gwen reaches for the plate of mince pies next to her and holds it out to him.

‘Go on,’ she says.

‘I suppose we should before Jack polishes them off,’ he says, reaching out to take one. ‘Thanks.’

Gwen helps herself to another too.

‘Right,’ says Jack, coming in through the front door and stamping his boots clean on the mat. ‘I’ve put anything really dangerous safely away, though I don’t see why people can’t just look where they’re walking.’

‘I’m not getting into this again, Jack,’ Gwen tells him as Ianto rolls his eyes and gets back to work.

Jack hangs his coat on the hook.

‘Probably not useful for this case anyway.’

‘Do we have anything that will be useful?’ Ianto asks.

‘Portable cells are looking like the best option,’ says Jack, picking up one of the devices Gwen remembers from her first case at Torchwood from the floor. ‘But they could also be totally useless if this thing really is only material in another dimension.’

He chucks the portable cell down onto the sofa.

‘What have you both found?’

‘There’s some dispute about the origins of Mari Lwyd,’ Gwen says, flicking through her research tabs. ‘Most seem to agree it’s pre-Christian, maybe linked to Samhain, so it’s pretty old. Almost all recorded examples of the tradition are in South Wales, right along the remit of the Rift actually, although I didn’t think our Rift was that old.’

‘It’s come and gone throughout history,’ Jack says. ‘Opening and closing with different disturbances and events. The Rift as we know it has been around since the nineteenth century but even when it’s not active, it’s always there, under the surface.’

‘So, one day we could go in to work and find that the Rift has just sealed itself up again?’

Jack nods. ‘If the right turn of events happened, sure.’

‘And then what would we do?’

‘I think we would have to become private investigators,’ says Ianto. ‘Put our skills to good use.’

‘Torchwood investigates,’ says Gwen. ‘I like it.’

‘Not gonna happen,’ says Jack. ‘There’ll still be aliens, we’d just have to go freelance.’

‘If we’re going freelance, I’d like a flatter management structure,’ says Gwen. ‘And a pay rise.’

‘Agreed,’ says Ianto.

‘You guys don’t listen to me half the time anyway,’ says Jack. ‘And you get paid plenty.’

Ianto looks over at Gwen.

‘I’ll get on the phone with our contacts at the Queen’s office,’ he tells her, ‘see what extra funds we can release ready for when everything here goes tits up.’

‘Good plan.’

‘That’s an abuse of power, Ianto Jones, you have those contact details for emergencies only,’ Jack chimes in.

‘This _is_ an emergency,’ says Ianto. ‘The Rift could seal up at any moment, leaving us penniless and destitute.’

Gwen snorts laughter into her mince pie. Pastry flakes spray across her laptop. As she scoops them into her hand, she notices the time in the corner of the screen. She glances out of the window and sees the sun is already dropping low.

‘It’ll be dark soon,’ she says. ‘Are we going to be ready?’

Jack lifts a wreath up off the top of the pile, brushing his hands through the greenery and glitter.

‘As we’ll ever be,’ he says.

*~*TW*~*

Night falls and the dark sets in. Jack has hung the wreath from their door but hours pass and nothing comes knocking. The longer they wait, the less tense the atmosphere in the cottage is, as if the danger has already passed and there’s nothing to worry about.

None of them remembered it was a Sunday and therefore the shop in the village would be closing early, so all they have to eat is more toast and mince pies, and the unopened bottle of wine left by the owner. Jack says they have to at least try and stop the mystery creature before cracking into it.

Gwen looks from the wine to her watch. It’s just gone nine.

Ianto has found a pack of cards and they’re playing poker while they wait. Gwen has never been any good at poker, she can never hold all of the rules in her head, but she does enjoy bluffing and trying to read people, which nets her the occasional fluke win.

She’s watching Jack now. There’s no doubt he’s played this game a lot, he knows all the lingo and makes decisions with relish, but Gwen’s spotted the way one of his eyebrows twitches when he gets a good hand. When it’s a bad hand, he taps his fingers against the backs of the cards fanned out in his hand. With these observations, she’s managed to take a few rounds on him.

Ianto, however, is much more inscrutable. He’s mastered the art of stillness and staring his opponents down over the tops of his cards. Gwen knows he can be flustered though. Ianto’s control relies on knowing he is in control of a situation so if she can just unsettle him a little, she might be able to take him.

She needs a win too. She’s £38 down.

‘So, Ianto,’ she says, looking up from her own cards. ‘I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want to upset you, I know you’ve been busy, but just before we left yesterday, I spilt a tub of that Gooleen goo on the coffee machine.’

Ianto meets her eyes, face impassable.

‘No, you didn’t,’ he says calmly. ‘The Gooleen goo is safely archived, I did it before you even got to the Hub yesterday.’

Gwen sighs. Damn.

‘I fold,’ she says, chucking her cards down.

‘Me too,’ says Jack, mimicking her movement. Ianto allows himself a small grin as he sweeps the winnings towards himself.

‘You’re never this good when we play strip poker,’ Jack says, eyeing Ianto as he stacks up his winnings.

‘Have you considered the benefits that come with losing strip poker, and making the game end quicker?’ Ianto suggests mildly, dealing out another hand. Jack grins wolfishly.

‘Rhys and I play strip Monopoly,’ Gwen says, sweeping up her cards. ‘The rage of the other person making you bankrupt really adds something. I once woke up with one of the little houses stuck on my -,’

There’s a knock at the door. All three jump to their feet, their game forgotten.

At first, all Gwen can hear are their quickened breaths, but soon a voice is drifting through to them, as clear as if there’s not a door between them. It’s a smooth baritone, lilting through unfamiliar words.

_‘Wel dyma ni’n dwad, gy-feillon ni-dwad, i ofyn am gennad, i ofyn am gennad, i ofyn am gennad I ganu.’_

She can’t understand it but she knows she wants to open the door. She has to open the door to hear more.

She shakes her head, feeling the soporific effect of the voice taking over, lulling her towards it.

‘I think you were right, Gwen,’ Ianto says in a hushed tone. ‘What kind of alien would turn up at the door singing in Welsh?’

‘Mari Lwyd,’ Gwen nods.

Jack has the portable cell in his hands. He presses the top of it, looking to activate it ready.

Nothing happens.

He tries again, turning the sleek silver unit over.

‘Damn,’ he says. ‘Battery’s dead.’

The hairs on the back of Gwen’s neck rise. She’s not sure whether that’s down to Jack’s words or the melody from outside.

‘What’s Plan B?’ she asks, looking between the other two.

‘It was always going to be me that opened the door,’ says Jack. ‘I’m like an endless energy source.’

‘And?’ Ianto snaps. Gwen can tell she knows where Jack is going with this, she can sense it herself and she doesn’t like it either.

‘I can still be that endless energy source while you two figure it out. It’ll give you time to try a few things.’

‘And what if we don’t?’ Gwen asks.

Jack claps her on the shoulder. He reaches out to squeeze Ianto’s arm.

‘Have a little faith,’ he says.

He brushes past them.

‘No, Jack -,’ Ianto starts, but it’s too late, Jack’s already thrown the door open.

Gwen has to shield her eyes from the sudden burst of bright, white light that illuminates the cottage. It rushes in with a cold wind that blows the fire out and causes her to stumble back. Ianto grabs her arm, catching her before she properly topples over.

The singing gets louder, the same words repeating.

_‘Wel dyma ni’n dwad, gy-feillon ni-dwad, i ofyn am gennad, i ofyn am gennad, i ofyn am gennad I ganu.’_

Just as with the others, Jack is frozen in the doorway, bathed in the white glow. His eyes are open and unblinking, one hand still on the door handle.

Beyond him is – well, is exactly what Gwen expected. If anything, she’d expected the Mari Lwyd to look more lifelike, but no, it looks as cobbled together as the photos she’d seen online. A horse-like skull, clean and ivory, propped on a long branch, covered with a rippling sheet that seems to be the source of the light. It glows and pulsates. Metallic green eyes roll around in its eye sockets, its long jaw cracking up and down as it sings.

‘Bastard,’ seethes Ianto, staring at Jack’s unmoving form. ‘He doesn’t know this is going to work!’

‘We’re just going to have to try everything we’ve got,’ says Gwen, already moving back towards the dining table, checking the equipment Jack had laid out.

Ianto reaches over for a handgun.

‘Let’s start with the obvious,’ he says, checking the chamber.

Before Gwen can stop him, he strides across the living room and fires at the creature point-blank.

The bullet comes to a halt mid-air, mere centimetres from the Mari Lwyd’s skull, and then drops to the ground.

Ianto fires three more times and the same thing happens.

‘Damn it,’ he says, crossing back over to Gwen and tossing the gun down on the table. ‘Next?’

They try several more weapons and the same thing happens each time – neither bullets, lasers or fire can touch it. Thinking outside the box, Gwen tries the Bekaran deep tissue scanner, thinking to blow it up from within itself but the scanner doesn’t think the creature is there, no matter what settings she puts on. They just can’t penetrate whatever is shielding the creature.

Frustrated after half an hour of trying, Gwen goes very back to basics and tries charging it down with an upturned broom, yelling like a banshee as she does. She feels the end of the handle crash up against something invisible but very solid before she’s lifted off her feet and blasted backwards.

Ianto helps her up.

‘Ow,’ she says, rubbing her coccyx.

‘At least we know now that we can’t just sweep it away,’ says Ianto.

‘Haha, very funny.’

He gets his PDA out and scans Jack, something he’s been doing periodically.

Gwen steps closer to the Mari Lwyd. The singing is driving her mad, the same lyrics over and over.

‘Don’t you know any other songs?’ she demands of it.

Its metallic eyes continue to spin in their sockets. Although they never stop and focus on any one thing, she feels like she has its attention.

‘Calon Lân maybe? Hymns and arias?’

The only Welsh songs she can remember are the ones they sing at the rugby.

‘Jack’s vitals are starting to drop,’ Ianto says. He taps the PDA against his bottom lip, staring at Jack.

Gwen tries not to look at their static leader too much. His wide-open eyes are unsettling.

‘Is it getting bigger?’ Gwen says.

Ianto stands beside her and looks past Jack to the Mari Lwyd.

‘I think you’re right,’ he says. ‘And if it can keep feeding off Jack…’

‘Don’t.’

Gwen presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, thinking hard. What was it she’d found in her research earlier, what did Mari Lwyd want?

She gasps, dropping her hands from her eyes.

‘That’s it!’ she says.

‘What is?’ says Ianto, quirking an eyebrow at her.

‘There are a few different old stories about Mari Lwyd but they all end the same way – with the Mari Lwyd coming into the house.’

‘So, we just invite it in?’

‘Worth a go.’

‘And then what?’

‘Some of the stories talk about giving it food and drink, maybe that’s what it wants?’

Ianto reaches for his handgun and reloads. He hands Gwen her gun too.

‘Just in case,’ he says. ‘Go on then.’

Gwen stands beside Jack, facing the creature down.

‘Would you like to come in?’ she asks it.

Nothing.

‘Sing,’ Ianto prompts from behind her. ‘Remember, the rap battle? You have to sing back.’

Gwen clears her throat. Feeling immensely awkward, she turns to address the Mari Lwyd again.

‘Would you like to come in?’ she tries again, making a tune up as she goes.

The Mari Lwyd lurches forward. It knocks Jack into Gwen, throwing them both to the ground, Jack’s weight knocking the breath out of Gwen.

Somewhere behind her, Ianto fires at the creature as it wheels around the room, rising high to the ceiling, singing faster and faster and then –

It transforms before their eyes. From skull and glowing sheet, it fills out, filling the room.

Jack splutters and comes to in time to see the grey horse that the Mari Lwyd has become drop down dead on the rug in front of the hearth.

He gets to his feet, helping Gwen up with him.

‘What happened?’ he asks.

‘Gwen sang the Mari Lwyd a little song, it ran in here, turned into a horse and died,’ Ianto summarises. He leans over the sofa to inspect the animal.

‘Grey mare,’ Gwen says softly, looking at the horse. It looks so peaceful, grey fur dappled with small white spots. ‘That’s where some people think the name Mari Lwyd comes from, a slight mistranslation of the Welsh for grey mare.’

She turns to Jack.

‘Are you alright?’ she asks.

‘Kinda cold but no real harm done. Can’t remember much before opening the door.’

Ianto reaches a hand out towards the horse. As his fingers land on its mane, the body shines bright from within, gathering more and more light towards it until, seconds later, it disappears.

Ianto pulls his hand back.

‘That saves me a clean-up job,’ he says.

‘I wonder what it was,’ says Gwen.

‘Maybe once it was just a normal horse,’ says Jack, looking up at the ceiling, as if he can see the creature disappearing towards the stars. ‘Maybe something got into it, made it become what it was. Or maybe it was always like that and now it’s gone off to some distant place to start all over again.’

‘You don’t think it’ll be back?’

‘We’ll keep an ear to the ground but no, I think our work here is done. And you know what that means?’

‘What?’

Jack grins.

‘We’ll all be home for Christmas.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is, the end of my belated Christmas story! The Mari Lwyd is a real Welsh folk tradition of speculative origins - give it a quick Google for some strange photos!


End file.
